As the ferry was not much used, Mr. Hayward early conceived the idea that other things might be sandwiched in to occupy our spare time. For of idleness he was the sworn enemy, and because of it rainy days and other unprofitable moments fretted him beyond endurance. Rest, as most people understand it, he looked upon as idleness. "You can rest best by changing from one kind of work to another," he would insist, "not by whittling a stick or going to the circus." It was in pursuance of such ideas that we hit upon the scheme of manufacturing shingles in the intervals of our other duties, and this to our great advantage, as it appeared. "People must have roofs over their heads, and many have none, or at best only poor ones," he explained. "They need shingles for this, and their manufacture will open a new field for us, and one that will dovetail with our work at the ferry." For him to conceive an idea was to put it in execution, and so we at once set out to build a machine, and this so near the landing that both industries could be carried on at the same time. The blocks for making the shingles we cut in winter and brought to the mill when other work was not pressing, and in order that bad weather might not hinder us we inclosed the machine in a rough shed. At one side we built a vat, and filling this with blocks of the needed length, we let in the water, and now starting a brisk fire in the furnace, the steam and heated water soon softened the material ready for cutting. I being the smaller of the two, and yet sufficient, held the blocks while Mr. Hayward worked the lever by which the knife was raised and lowered. Black walnut being plentiful, we used it, but sparingly, exacting a higher price. Being tenacious of fiber, the labor of cutting this wood was great, and so taxed Mr. Hayward’s muscles that they sometimes fairly snapped under the strain. With cottonwood, of which there was no end, it was different; for if steamed to a proper consistency, you could cut it as you would clip a sausage. Of the two kinds of shingles our preference inclined strongly to cottonwood; on Mr. Hayward’s part because the labor was less, and on mine because it did not discolor my hands, black walnut staining them so that they were of every shade from light brown to a deep black. This mortified me at first, but afterward, Constance not speaking of it or appearing to notice anything unusual, I became more reconciled to the disfigurement. Indeed, the dear girl regarded it so little that when visiting us at the mill, if I happened to be packing the shingles, she would sit by my side and pass them to me, one by one, for an hour at a time. Or, if I was holding the blocks in the machine, she would seat herself in my place, and do the work, or make pretense of doing it. At such times I watched her from the platform where I stood, and this not always discreetly; for one day, when observing her instead